


100 Deaths

by WhisperingWillows



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Before Charlie takes over and punts Maxwell into revenge, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Shadow Monsters, autocannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingWillows/pseuds/WhisperingWillows
Summary: He's just so hungry.There's nothing left to eat.





	100 Deaths

His first death was to a _frog_.

Could you believe it? Frogs!

He thought it was cute at first, when it hopped out of the pond during a fishing trip. He already wasn’t doing well in terms of health after that first hound attack, so it was nice to have a bit of seemingly friendly company, but then WHAM! Not so cute anymore after that!

His second death was to a tree. Something that, by all means, shouldn’t spontaneously come to life and slice you apart. The third death was to the thing in the darkness. He was too afraid to get firewood after the guard attacked him.

The fifth was to a swarm of bees. The eighth was to an angry beefalo in heat. The twelfth to the deerclops. The twenty-seventh to bees. Again.

It looked like the hundredth death would be to his hunger.

Wilson had come close so many times to starvation, but he was a scrapper. He always managed to find an overlooked carrot, or an only mildly spoiled bit of jam, but it really seemed like he had nothing now. He had so desperately overturned everything in his weathered, half-broken camp. Anything once edible was mush. His farms hadn’t produced in days, and weren’t likely to be offering up much in the harsh cold of Winter.

Meat. He needed meat. Wilson knew he couldn’t muster up enough strength to hunt down big game like beefalo or koalefants, but surely he could trap a couple rabbits and—

A sudden pang of hunger cut through his thoughts like a hot knife. It was enough to force him onto his knees as he rode it out. Black wisps clung the his peripherals as the word echoed over and over in his head. 

Hungry

_Hungry_

_**Hungry** _

The fear of impending death encroaching in on him was driving Wilson only further down the spiral of insanity. Not again. He knew what would come after. He would wake up in the snow, surrounded by the broken remains of a touchstone; he’d be half-alive, with nothing but the already tattered clothes on his back to take with him back to camp. Food would still be a problem, and the shadows could appear at any time to just kill him again. What if he got caught in a cycle? What if he stopped coming back?

_**Hungry** _

He could taste the word on his lips. Was that Mr. Skits he just saw wriggle out of sight? No time to think about that; he still needed food. 

The motions were almost automatic.

What was the term? Long pig? Surely with a name like that it couldn’t be that bad, and Wilson had gone through so much that pain had lost a good bit of meaning to his fragile mind. The shiny, newly-made axe he stole from one of his decrepit chests would surely be sharp enough to get the job done fast.

He was just...so hungry. Any presence of sanity, of hesitance was driven away the second another stab sent its way through his gut. He couldn’t wait anymore. For someone more well-fed, it might’ve taken two or three blows the the ankle to slice away the foot, but Wilson was just so skinny from an eternity of malnutrition that it only took one chop.

The poor man didn’t even wait for it to cook properly. His train of thought just wouldn’t derail from his ceasing appetite. He wouldn’t register the pain. Wilson, formerly a scientific genius in his own words, was barely more than a feral creature dressed up in rags as he painstakingly chewed away whatever half-seared, half-raw bits of flesh he could sink his teeth into.

The Wilson before would’ve never turned to eating parts of himself. The Wilson before would’ve been tending immediately to his new stump to decrease the risk of bleeding out and infection. The Wilson before would’ve forced himself to his feet to trap rabbits.

The Wilson before was dead.

The new Wilson’s solution was flawed and doomed to failure the moment he picked up his axe. The human body is such a delicate thing, and he was already so weak. Too weak.

At least starvation wouldn’t get to him. Not this time. The enclosing terrorbeaks and crawling horrors, however, seemed to be just as ravenous as he was before. There was no coherency left in his thoughts, and Wilson only barely heard, barely felt the rip of his abdomen being torn open by the shadows as he dozed off. 

Death 100: Insanity.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I've wanted to write something proper for Don't Starve, so here this is! Making Wilson suffer is sort of hot....
> 
> I know there's people waiting for the next chapter of Through the Lens of Madness, but even I don't know when that will be. I've got it started, but I've hit major writer's block.


End file.
